


like the sunset

by oh_no_oh_dear



Series: tungle dot hell [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes is also a little shit, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: I can't even blame anyone else for this.





	like the sunset

Bucky couldn’t say _why_  he did it, not exactly. He just knew that that was how you got to be friendly with someone. You teased ‘em. Right? And Wilson hadn’t exactly been averse to a little friendly ribbing. Mostly friendly. Usually.   
  
    “Don’t do it, Buck,” Steve said without looking up from his morning paper. Bucky scowled at his friend, bristling at the tone. He wasn’t a dog or a damn child, he was a grown man. If he wanted to put salt in Sam’s coffee, he was gonna. Almost as if Steve sensed Bucky’s quiet defiance, he tapped on his paper and raised an eyebrow, still not looking away from his coupons for oatmeal or whatever it was the man was reading.   
“All right, but don’t come running to me if he gets mad. Sam _loves_  his coffee.”  
  
Bucky wasn’t one for talking much first thing in the morning, but he figured the energy he was about to expend was worth it.   
“Hey, Steve...”  
  
Steve finally glanced up, both eyebrows raised in question now. Bucky maintained eye contact as he poured a generous helping of salt from the box into Sam’s precious coffee, using the spoon to stir it in. Steve heaved a huge sigh and went back to his paper.   
  


* * *

 

  
When Sam finally emerged, yawning widely and rubbing at his eyes in a ~~n adorable~~ way that made Bucky _very briefly_  regret being such an asshole, Steve wasted no time in being a tattletale, because blah blah truth and justice and being a goddamn spoilsport.  
“Sam, don’t drink that; Bucky’s messed with it,” he said calmly. Sam was too out of it to do more than _hmm?_  questioningly, easing into the chair at the kitchen table. Bucky looked incredibly innocent as Steve reached for his own coffee cup, which, if Sam had been more awake, would have been a hint--  
  
Steve gagged and sprayed his coffee onto his newspaper, eyes watering; Sam jolted more awake, looking baffled.   
“What the hell, Steve?” he rasped, his sleep-hoarse voice horrible and not at all endearing in the slightest.   
  
    “You put salt in _my--_  you  _jerk--”_  Steve’s speech was a little hard to follow, his tongue lolling from his mouth in disgust as he hurried to the sink to spit and rinse his mouth.   
  
    “This ain’t the bathroom, Rogers, that’s _nasty_ ,” Sam muttered, raising his own cup. Bucky busied himself looking as though he was distracted by Steve’s dramatic gargling to pay attention to Sam, but he was listening for the telltale gag.  
  
He never heard it. Instead, Sam hummed contentedly as he sipped his coffee, sliding back in the chair and unlocking his phone to check his texts. Bucky blinked, no longer hiding his interest. The man had just downed a mouthful of disgusting salty coffee without so much as a flinch. Bucky felt a little bit of admiration for Sam’s poker face.  
  
Or he _did_ , until he took a gulp of his own coffee and promptly spit it all over himself. Wilson had switched the cups. Right under Bucky’s nose. Bucky was genuinely impressed-- or would be, once his mouth stopped tasting like a used coffee filter dunked in ocean water.   
  
    “Better luck next time,” Sam said  cheerfully, taking another long sip of his (or rather, Bucky’s) coffee. He flashed a small, gap-toothed grin smile at Bucky that made him feel... kinda weird. It was probably the bad coffee reacting in his gut.  
  
That had to be the explanation for the fluttering in his stomach.  
  


* * *

  
    “I’m not callin’ you that, Barnes.”  
  
    “We’re _sharing the shield_ , Sam. That technically makes me Captain America too.”  
  
    “Okay-- one: I’ve been Captain America longer than you. And two: we can’t _both_  have the same call sign.”  
  
    “We can be Cap1 and Cap2,” Bucky grumbled, kneeling beside Sam on the warm concrete. They were both on the rooftop of an old apartment across from an office building, waiting for a signal from Steve to crash a meeting between Hydra lackeys and A.I.M. interns. A low-level threat, to be honest, but any meeting between the sometimes at-odds groups was never a good thing.   
  
    “I’d better be ‘Cap1,’ kid,” Sam scoffed. His red-tinted goggles were settled on top of his head, the dark red fingers of his gloves lightly resting on the famous shield resting between them. Bucky thought of putting his own hand on the shield just to be a jerk, which led to the thought of interlacing their fingers, which was a baffling turn for his line of thinking to take, what the _fuck_  
  
    “I’m not a goddamn kid-- and I’ve known Steve longer, so _I’d_  be Cap1,” Bucky shot back without any real heat. Sam huffed out a quiet laugh, his eyes dark and warm like sun-warmed earth and _why was Bucky thinking of this_  
  
    “You’re acting like a kid. I’m Cap1. End of.”  
  
    “ _Technically, I would be ‘Cap1,’ Sam would be Cap2, and Buck would be Cap3,”_ Steve said, his voice a little tinny over the comms.   
  
    “If we wanna get technical--” Sam started, before stiffening and throwing himself flat. Bucky was nonplussed for a beat too long and Sam reached up, grabbing his hand and yanking the other man down into an awkward splayed position.   
“Nearly got spotted,” Sam said, breathing a little heavily with adrenaline. Bucky’s pulse was racing, too, and it had nothing to do with the bored-looking A.I.M. scientist that had glanced in their direction mere seconds ago. It had everything to do with Sam’s fingers wrapped around his hand-- even if his elbow was throbbing from it banging into the goddamn shield.   
  
    “ _All good? No movement by the west entrance. They’re still outside smoking._ _”_ Steve heaved a sigh that crackled over the comms; the man was really bad at staying still for periods longer than 20 minutes.   
  
    “They’re not shootin’ at us, so I don’t think they made us,” Bucky offered, trying to distract himself from Sam’s proximity.   
  
    “ _Okay, good. Maintain positions.”  
_  
    “We know how to run a simple surveillance op, man.”  
  
    “ _I know, I know. Sorry. Hey-- you were saying ‘if we wanna get technical’ just now. About the ‘Cap’ thing?”_ Steve was clearly bored, trying to entertain himself by chatting with them as they waited for A.I.M. (or Hydra) to do something punch-worthy.  
  
Sam turned his head and locked eyes with Bucky for one long, strange moment. Then, almost as if he’d zoned out, Sam shook himself and released Bucky’s hand, grinning a little abashedly. It was still a nice smile, Bucky thought miserably, even if their faces were pressed against the dirty concrete roof.   
  
    “Yeah, Rogers. If we wanna get technical, Isaiah Bradley is Cap1.”  
  
    “ _Shit. Shit, you’re right. I-- sorry.”  
_  
    “S’okay. Everyone forgets.”  
  
There was an awkward pause.   
  
    “We could always ditch ‘Cap’ altogether,” Bucky suggested. “I’ll be W.S., you be Falcon, Steve can be...”  
  
    “ _C’mon guys, don’t--”  
_  
    “Nomad,” Bucky and Sam finished in perfect unison.   
  
    “ _It’s not all **that**  bad. I __was just throwing out ideas--”  
_  
    “Yeah, you wanna be ‘Nomad,’ you gotta leave the apartment more than once a week. You gotta, y’know... roam.”  
  
    “ _It’s a symbolic name, Bucky.”_ Steve was sounding distinctly disgruntled. He’d given up the mantle of ‘Captain America’ some time ago, and when he had suggested the name change to his two best friends they had cried laughing. They’d sworn to bring it up at every opportunity, and had been pretty damn vigilant about it.   
  
    “Symbolic of you being really bad at picking names, maybe,” Sam muttered. The roar of machinery cut through the casual mood and the three men went silent as they took in the sight below them. It was hard to see exactly what the thing was, but the small group of scientists and lackeys had gathered around to watch the demonstration. Whatever it was, it had a lot of flailing metal tentacles  and blades. Probably not for helping little old ladies across the street, then.   
  
Steve was already halfway towards the group, his triangular shield deflecting a few scattered laser blasts from the few guards that had attended the gathering. Sam jumped to his feet, his wings unfurling in a flash of proud crimson, but when he glanced down to pick up the shield, Bucky heard it. The unmistakable _fwip_  of something small coming fast towards them.   
  
    “Get down!” Bucky called, roughly shoving Sam out of the way.  
  
He got shot in the ass for his trouble.   
  
    “ _You two don’t need to come down, I got them all!”_  Steve called cheerfully mere minutes later. He was almost drowned out by the screech and clanking of tearing metal; after quickly knocking out the A.I.M. and Hydra representatives, he’d gone about dismantling the machine with great ease.   
  
    “Barnes, you ok? Barnes?” Sam was standing above him, and he was _really handsome_ , and his mouth was real nice even when it was turned down with worry like it was now, and his arms were really good, and Bucky’s butt kind of hurt. A lot.   
“Barnes, fucking say something.”  
  
    “Hhhhahahahaha.”  
  
    “Okay, you’re-- what? Man, is that -- Barnes, you got a bigass dart sticking out of your asscheek, you seriously can’t feel that?”  
  
    “Ow,” Bucky agreed amicably. He barely flinched when Sam reached down to pluck the dart out, just lost in suddenly feeling _really good_.   
“You touched my ass,” he said, making Sam roll his eyes.   
  
    “Yeah, Bucky. Only way to get the damn thing out. Sit still so I can check your vitals.”  
  
    “S’okay that you touched my butt. I wanna touch _your_  butt.”  
  
    “I’m gonna ignore that.”  
  
    “It’s big. It’s a big butt.”  
  
    “Shut up, Barnes,” Sam murmured, checking Bucky’s pulse and seeming somewhat satisfied with the result.   
“And what’s wrong with big butts, anyway?” Sam asked as he gently held open Bucky’s eyelids to check his pupils. They were blown wide open, which wasn’t great. Even if the dude _did_  look like he was having a grand ol’ time.   
  
    “ _Why’re we talking about butts?”_ Steve interjected.   
  
    “Your idiot friend decided to play the hero. Got hit by a dart and now he’s loopy,” Sam sighed. He sounded exasperated, but he still mouthed _Thanks_  at Bucky, who gave a wobbly thumbs-up. Far from being concerned, Steve let out a hastily-smothered bark of laughter.   
  
    “ _Is he okay?”_  he managed.   
  
    “Dunno--”  
  
Bucky tried to sit up, still looking like he was on cloud nine. “I’m fine and so’s my butt and so’s _Sam’s_  butt and listen, hey Sam, big butts are great! They’re fine. Like Mr. Stir-a-bunch says, ‘I like big butts’--”  
  
    “It’s ‘Sir Mix-a-lot’ and I will literally pay you in gold to not sing that,” Sam said, horrified.   
  
    “ _I got some information out of one of the scientists,”_  Steve cut in.   
  
    “By ‘got some information,’ did you mean ‘threaten to punch them until they talked’?” Sam asked.    
  
    “ _No! Well... a little.”  
_  
    “We gotta talk about your interrogation methods sometime, Rogers. What’d they say?”  
  
    “ _My methods are effective, Sam. Anyway-- they said that it’s a truth serum and they were going use it on the others in case they turned on each other. Supposed to make you say whatever’s on your mind, so they’d spill their secret experiments and the like. Real honour among thieves, here.”_  
  
    “--you other brothers can’t deny, with a-- wait, can _I_  say ‘brothers,’ Sam? Sam?”  
  
    “I mean... I guess it’s not the worst thing you could sing from a rap song, Barnes. Also, shut up. We gotta get you to a hospital to make sure you’re not dying.”  
  
    “Okay. Something somethin’ round-thing-in-your-face  _you get sprung,_  wanna pull up tough--”  
  
    “Steve, I hope to god you have the Jeep ready to go because I’m about to throw your friend off the roof.”  
  


* * *

  
Bucky remembered all the lyrics on the way to the hospital, and he regaled the unamused doctors with several renditions of Sir Mix-a-lot’s magnum opus.  
  


* * *

  
    “I hate that song,” Steve groaned several hours later. “It’s stuck in my head.” Bucky was draped heavily across them on the couch, out cold as his enhanced body fought off the effects of the dart. The doctors had cleared him and attempted to give him some shots to counteract the effects, but he’d shown real fear, flinching away from the needles and latex gloved hands. He’d been advised to let his body do its thing, instead. (No doctors were harmed by a panicking drugged-up supersoldier.)  
  
    “Yeah, well, at least he wasn’t pointing at you every time he said ‘baby got back,’” Sam groused. His legs were falling asleep under Bucky, he was tired, and he kept finding himself humming snatches of the same song that was haunting Steve.   
  
    “S ‘cause Steve don’t got back. He’s got... he’s got a back. Back-back. Not butt-back,” Bucky mumbled, his voice muffled from being wedged into a pillow on Sam’s lap.   
  
    “Again with the butt thing. I got a perfectly serviceable butt, thanks,” Steve said, a little huffy. (’Nomad,’ clipping coupons, and his comparatively flat ass-- all favourite topics of teasing for Sam and Bucky.)  
  
    “Yeah, _serviceable._  Sam’s got a ‘donk--”  
  
    “ _No_. We’re cutting off your access to the Internet.”  
  
    “--built for _comfort,_ ” Bucky finished, cutting across Sam.  
  
    “I can’t fucking wait for this stupid drug to wear off,” Sam sighed. Steve had a barely-concealed look of glee; he was getting some pretty good ammunition for driving Sam crazy in the future. Ahh, friendship.  
  
    “The drug? I feel fine,” Bucky said, shuffling upright. His voice certainly sounded less dreamy, and his eyes were clear and focused. Steve immediately smacked him in the back of the head, making Bucky yelp.   
  
    “You’ve been asleep on us for _two hours.”  
_  
    “You’re comfortable!” Bucky grinned a little. “Sam’s thighs--”  
  
    “I’m going to bed,” Sam said loudly, getting up. Bucky sat up a little more, fending off Steve’s old-man grumbling with a dismissive wave.   
  
    “Hey, Sam.”  
  
    “What, man?”  
  
    “You got real nice arms too.”   
  
    “Fuck off.”  
  
    “And... thanks.” Bucky’s voice was a little quieter, and Sam flashed him a brief smile.   
  
    “Oh, don’t worry... you’ll owe me.”  
  
Bucky felt his stomach do that _thing_  again, and it couldn’t have been coffee this time. He felt Steve’s eyes on him the entire time he watched Sam leave the room.  
“ _What_ , Rogers?”  
  
    “You forget how to flirt or something, Buck? That was pathetic.”  
  
    “Shut the hell up, Steve. You know I can’t remember shit any more,” Bucky sulked. Steve just waggled his eyebrows, not buying his friend’s fake woe-is-me act.   
  
    “For the first time in my life, I’m better at flirting than you. You can’t blame me for wanting to bask.”  
  
    “Better? Says who?”  
  
    “Says _her_ ,” Steve said, holding up his phone. Bucky read the messages on the screen for a moment, his eyes widening slightly. He sighed, braced himself, and explained ‘spam bots’ to his friend. No, no one was _that_  pretty and funny and still single. He was just trying to save his friend from getting scammed, but Steve was adamant, shooing Bucky off to bed.  
  
    “Rogers, if that woman is the real deal, I’ll give you twe-- no, _fifty_  bucks.”  
  


* * *

  
B.B.: [21:35] _You got a nice smile_  
  
S.W.: [21:36] _at least uv moved on frm my ass. thx. ur rly weird but thx._  
  
B.B.: [21:37] _Sorry._  
S.W.: [21:37] _np. cant sleep?_  
B.B.: [21:37] _Nah. You?  
_  
S.W.: [21:38] _nope._  
S.W.: [21:38] _got n e other corny shit to tell me? mayb it wll put me 2 sleep_  
B.B.: [21:38] _I got plenty_  
  
S.W.: [21:40] _ok. shoot._  
  
B.B.: [21:41] _Really?_  
S.W.: [21:41] _yea._    
  
B.B.: [21:42] _sometimes you wrinkle up your nose when you laugh really hard and it’s cute_  
  
S.W.: [21:43] _jesus lmao. ma used 2 call me her little bunny wen i was a kid cos i did taht_  
S.W.: [21:43] _how much can i pay u to forget u evr read that  
_  
B.B.: [21:44] _All the money in the world wouldn’t make me forget that_

B.B.: [21:46] _you talk to me like we’ve been friends for years and I tried to kill you and it makes my chest hurt sometimes_  
S.W.: [21:46] _i still hav nightmares about u_  
  
Sam regretted sending the message almost immediately; he was exhausted from their long day, and was perhaps a little too honest. But it was true; he’d had dreams where him getting thrown across the room meant he didn’t get up. Or that he was trapped in his body, watching Bucky murder Steve. Or that it hadn’t been his steering wheel that the Winter Soldier grabbed, but Sam’s own neck. Or--  
  
    “Can I come in?”  
  
Sam hesitated. He wasn’t sure he was up to heavy emotional labour, but putting off the talk would just keep him up with anxiety all night.   
“Yeah.”  
  
Bucky poked his head into the room, looking rather more tired than Sam had expected.   
“Think my body’s crashin’ after the whole... dart thing,” Bucky offered. Sam hummed thoughtfully and beckoned him further into the room.   
  
    “Been a long day, Barnes. Longer even for those of us that had to hear ‘Baby Got Back’ 20 times today.”  
  
    “You’re the one that said me n’ Steve should watch VH1 to catch up with pop culture.”  
  
    “And never have I regretted anything more. Sit down, man.”  
  
    “Where? No chairs in here.”  
  
    “What kind of maniac has _chairs_  in their bedroom?”  
  
    “Me. Steve. Normal people.”  
  
    “Just sit on the bed or the damn floor, Barnes, I’m sick of craning my neck to look at you.”  
  
Bucky sat gingerly on the edge of Sam’s bed, suddenly seeming shy.   
“Do you really have bad dreams about...” _Me nearly brutally murdering you a bunch of times?_  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “Oh.”  
  
There was a distinctly uncomfortable pause and Sam hugged himself, mentally casting about for something to say.  
“I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me.” _again._ “I know you now. You’re not that guy anymore.”  
  
    “You sure about that?” Bucky asked, his voice a little bit harsher than he meant. Sam frowned.   
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “How?”   
  
    “Well, for one-- you haven’t tried to kill me for singing in the shower yet,” Sam muttered. Bucky let out a surprised huff of laughter.   
  
    “I haven’t _what_?”  
  
    “Every single person I’ve dated says I’m the worst singer they’ve ever heard.”  
  
    “Well... you’re better’n me.”  
  
    “Hmm. I-- you know what, Barnes? You’re right.”  
  
    “My gift to you. Someone that’s a worse singer than you.”  
  
    “Pass.”  
  
    “I won’t hurt you, Sam.” The comment seemed to come out of nowhere, but Sam had been waiting for it.  
  
    “I know.”  
  
    “I don’t wanna. I-- I never did.”  
  
    “I _know_ , man.”  
  
    “I’d die before I do again.”  
  
Sam sucked in a sharp breath.   
“That’s... pretty heavy, Bucky,” he said carefully. Uncharacteristically, Bucky was maintaining steady eye contact with Sam.   
  
    “Nah. ‘S true. Before I hurt you or Steve again, I’d--”  
  
    “Okay, I get it. Thanks.” Awkward as it was, Barnes was clearly trying to offer comfort the only way he could manage.   
“Can we go back to you telling me weird compliments instead?” Sam joked weakly.   
  
    “I used to be real poetic, y’know. If I was tryin’ to go with you I’d probably say something about your eyes.”  
  
    “Jesus, Barnes. You had that one ready to go?”  
  
    “Been wanting to say it for a while.”  
  
    “That dart was a hell of a drug, huh?”  
  
    “It’s not the dart and you know it.”  
  
    “It’s not the... okay, the only other option is--”  
  
    “I’m trying to flirt with you, okay?”  
  
    “Oh. Yikes.”  
  
    “Is that a ‘yikes, no, stop’ or...”  
  
    “It’s a ‘yikes, you’re bad at this.’ I’m okay with the _concept_  of you flirting with me, it’s the execution that’s lacking.”  
  
    “What? Okay, hold on to your horses--”  
  
    “ _Dude.”  
_  
    “Just let me... okay. Your eyes are like when the sun’s going down in the summer and the sky’s all orange and the air’s still kinda warm and right at the edge of the horizon there’s the little strip of darkness. ‘S almost black.”  
  
Sam blinked a few times, at a loss for words, but Bucky wasn’t done yet.   
  
“That damn horizon -- always made me want to go to it and get lost in it. Like I could catch the sunset... like I could touch it. That’s what your eyes are like.”  
  
    “You’re such an asshole.”  
  
    “Me? Why?!”  
  
    “Because that was _good.”  
_  
    “You’re... mad because my flirting was good.”  
  
    “Yes, and now I’ve gotta let you take me out to dinner.”  
  
    “Oh, you do, do ya?”  
  
    “Yeah. Dammit, you might even get a kiss out of this.”  
  
    “This before or after the dinner?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully. Sam pretended to think it over.   
  
The soft little sound that Sam made when Bucky nipped at his neck made getting shot in the ass with a dart more than worth it.  
  


* * *

  
Steve’s date turned out to be tiny, smart, funny, and _gorgeous._ Flawless brown skin. Large dark eyes sparkling with mischief. And a beautiful mouth that was spreading into a slow smirk--  
  
    “So,” Sharon Carter said, “I hear we’re owed fifty bucks.” She laughed when Bucky scrambled for his wallet, and said he could buy them all ice cream instead.  
  
    “Wonder if I can date her instead,” Sam murmured later on as he and Bucky walked behind Sharon and Steve. The sun was going down, and they’d decided to take a walk on the beach to enjoy the last warm rays.   
  
    “I wouldn’t blame you, but she seems pretty gone on Rogers,” Bucky snorted. Sam shoved him lightly.   
  
    “I’m messing with you, Barnes. Who else is gonna tell me corny shit about how my _eyes look like the sunset_?”  
  
Bucky looked at Sam, who didn’t look away or roll his eyes for once. Bucky wanted to touch his face, still awestruck after all this time by the way the light made his skin glow with warmth, touching his lips, his eyelashes. His eyes. His eyes, which were amber shot through with gold one moment, deep dark mahogany the next.   
  
    “Who _wouldn’t_?” Bucky responded.

 

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, [this is my reference for Sharon Carter](http://lunaaltare.tumblr.com/post/159469698999/sharon-carter-but-with-a-way-cooler-outfit-and).


End file.
